One December Night
by brockie
Summary: It is cold in Venice, and yet someone still walks the streets...[Oneshot]


**Disclaimer:** Okay, okay, you caught me. I don't own The Thief Lord. Or much of anything else, for that matter. The only character I have ownership over is the nursemaid. Word.

* * *

The cold December wind whistled shrilly throughout the alleyways of Venice. It was quite dark, although it was still early in the evening. Snow glistened on the streets, and there was a thin layer of ice covering the water in the fountains. Needless to say, there were very few people out of their houses, and the few that were hurried about as fast as they could, trying to get home to the warmth of their houses. 

All except one. A girl, no older than fifteen, wandered slowly through the streets of Venice. She was not wearing very warm clothes, but she did not seem to be bothered by the chilly wind. She was not really a very remarkable girl; brown hair and green eyes, a bit on the thin side, but average besides that. No, it wasn't the girl that had people looking over their shoulders; it was what she was carrying.

Wrapped protectively in a worn blanket was a small boy, no older than two. The girl hugged him absentmindedly to her chest, as though he would slip though her arms like sand. They were a very unusual sight indeed. Especially at this time of night.

The young boy had lived in a house that was neither too grand, nor too cramped, with his parents, older brother, and housemaid, who doubled as a nursemaid. His mother and father had been thrilled when he had been born, they had promised their older son a sibling, and a younger brother would be perfect.

However, it had not turned out perfect. Only a few days ago, a fire had rampaged through the home, taking the lives of the boy's mother, father, and older brother. His nursemaid had only just managed to bring him to safety.

At the moment, the boy was fast asleep, as though he hadn't a care in the world but when he would next be fed, or whether he could have that brightly colored stick of candy behind the glass counter.

The girl looked down at him, and sighed sadly.

"Oh you poor thing, what in the world am I going to do with you?"

She spoke to the boy gently as she stroked his scruffy, unkempt hair, trying in vain to smooth it down.

The nursemaid had been trying for, oh, God knew how long, to find a suitable orphanage for him, only to find ones too expensive, too crowded, or just plain too bad for her liking.

She had, of course, thought about keeping him herself, but that would require awkward questions, and answers that she would rather not give.

No, he would go to an orphanage. A nice one. She would make sure of it.

The sky was almost at it's darkest now, and now nearly everyone had gotten off the streets. A particularly bitter gust of wind blew, going right through the nursemaid's thin coat and chilling her to the bone. She held the small boy even closer to her now, for he had begun shivering.

Snow had begun to cover the streets again when the nursemaid came upon a large building with a magnificent wrought iron gate. It's black metal twisted and curved high above her head, but there was not only iron. There was also a picture of something on top of the large gate. As she squinted, the picture began to take on more of a shape. A merry-go-round, or something of the sort.

The nursemaid started to walk up the stony path to the front door of the building. Although she hadn't been able to make out the words on the iron gate, any place with a picture of a carousel on the entrance should be somewhat friendly, shouldn't it?

When she reached the great oak doors and put her hand up to knock on the door, she stopped.

Was this really the right thing to do?

She shook her head quickly. Of course it was the right thing to do. She was not allowed to have second thoughts about this. The child wasn't even technically _hers _for heaven's sake.

So, taking a deep breath, she rapped on the door. She waited for half a minute…then a minute…then two…until _finally _a very tired looking nun came and let her out of the cold.

"Sit down, dear, you look dead on your feet. I'll get you something warm to drink. Is tea alright?" the nun looked at the nursemaid, waiting for her answer.

"Oh, um, yes. Tea is fine," she said, caught slightly off guard. At least she could be sure the boy wouldn't starve while he was here...

The kindly nun bustled out of the room, calling over her shoulder, "I'll be back before you can blink!" and then disappeared. The nursemaid nodded and let her eyes drift around the room.

The place had a sort of homey feel to it, if nothing else. The walls were of dark wood, oak, perhaps, and the beams holding up the roof were clearly visible, which reminded her of a ski lodge. A rural sort of place. Vaugely, she wondered if the nun would let her stay as well...

"...I do hope you like lemon, dear, it was all I could find on such short notice," the nun said, backing into the room with a silver tray, tea pot, and tea cups balanced in her hands.

"Oh! Yes, yes, lemon's fine," the nursem

aid said reassuringly, nodding. The nun smiled at her warmly, and the nursemaid felt herself relax for the first time since the fire.

"So," the nun said as she poured the steaming tea into one of the cups, "I'm assuming he's the reason you're here?" she gestured to the little boy in her arms. The nursemaid nodded again.

"Yes."

"Alright then. If you'll just come with me, I can get you the papers, you can sign them, then be on your way,"

The nursemaid blinked, thoroughly surprised.

"R-really?" she asked, not wanting to believe it was that easy; that young child she had cared for since the day he was born would be gone from her forever in just a few short minutes...

"Yes, really," the nun said, still smiling. "But I could have it take longer, if that is what you wish,"

The nursemaid shook her head sadly.

"No. I'll do it now," _Better to get it over with sooner..._

_"_Alright. Follow me, dear,"

* * *

The nursemaid walked slowly down the cold streets of Venice, her arms wrapped around her chest tightly. She carefully made her way to the old bed-and-breakfast down the road, counting the cobblestones as she made her way down the street.

As she placed a bare hand on the door knob, she looked back over her shoulder, just able to make out the wrought iron gate. She sighed sadly, but her gaze did not falter.

"Be good, my little Riccio..." she whispered before opening the door and stepping inside.

* * *

**A/N: **I've had this gosh-darn document in my Documents for just about a year. I thought it was about time I finished it.

I'm not going to pretend I know everything about the Thief Lord, or Riccio. This fic is, well, fiction, so it's not necessarily what actually happened to my favorite little pickpocket, or his family.

Just wanted to make that clear  
lessthan3

Recherché


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